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Monday
Popping into court again this week. Forgot tie. Took a taxi. Fifty quid. Or
maybe three hundred thousand and seventeen quid. Wasn’t really paying
attention.

It’s not nice, this trial. But I relish the chance to set the record straight.
This image of me as an ogre throughout my marriage to that hippy baker —
whom, of course, I still adore — is preposterous. The trouble was, she just
wouldn’t ever take my advice.

Why, I remember when she had a replica of our kitchen built in a TV studio.